


Strawberry

by Ludwiggle73



Series: Christmas Tidbits [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas Eve, Gen, Headspace, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludwiggle73/pseuds/Ludwiggle73
Summary: Matthew shares his gift with Alfred.
Relationships: America & Canada (Hetalia)
Series: Christmas Tidbits [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580215
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	Strawberry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wecouldbethestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wecouldbethestars/gifts).



> For my favorite husband - happy anniversary <3

Matthew was alone.

But that was a good thing. He always wanted the cots in his tent to be empty. If the nurses and medics were bored, that meant no one was suffering. He’d gotten word an hour ago that a ceasefire had been called for Christmas. Now he’d finished taking inventory and tidying and windproofing. The tents were heavy duty and their portable furnaces were apparently the cutting edge of technology, but he still felt uneasy here. He knew better than most people posted here how quick the weather could turn. If you weren’t prepared for the worst, you were as good as dead.

“Nurse!” The tent door flapped open and Matthew jumped into action. A soldier was dragging another in by the hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He fell, and now he won’t talk. I figure he must’ve broken something and he’s in shock.”

Matthew ushered the young soldier over to sit on a cot. A quick once-over: no blood, no obvious deformity. “Did he land on his back?”

“No, he caught himself on his hands. They were out there goofing off because we got Christmas free.” The soldier shook his head. “Now he gets to stay here tonight.”

Matthew nodded. “Thank you, sir. I won’t be needing you from here. Happy Holidays.”

The soldier just nodded and walked out.

Matthew turned back to his patient. He was a private, a few years younger than Matthew by the look of it. Blond hair, blue eyes. Matthew offered a smile. “How are you feeling?”

Those sky eyes looked at him, but they seemed a little fuzzy. Like he saw him, but didn’t recognize him for what he was. Or perhaps he didn’t recognize _himself_ as what he was.

Matthew unfastened the top buttons of his uniform. “I’m just going to try and make you a little more comfortable.” His fingertips brushed the chain of his dog tags. _Jones, Alfred._ “Can you breathe alright? Let me know if you have trouble or feel any sharp pain.”

Then he checked over Alfred’s arms. The right had no issues. The left got a loud whimper out of Alfred, and his eyes locked on to Matthew now, pleading.

“I’m sorry,” he said, even though his overseer had taught him to never apologize. It was a bad habit, apparently. “It’s your wrist, isn’t it? Does this hurt?”

It took several iterations of gentle pressure and coaxing, but Alfred finally nodded. Matthew smiled kindly. “I don’t think anything’s broken. I would say it’s just a sprain. I’m going to splint it, so you don’t move it around too much, okay?”

Alfred gave no response, just watched as Matthew placed a pad beneath his forearm and wrapped it. ‘This will probably feel fine tomorrow,” Matthew told him. “But this will just help it heal faster. There. How’s that?”

Alfred looked curiously at this new development. He felt at it with his other hand, tentative, and Matthew felt as though he was watching a child. Perhaps this wasn’t shock, but something else, something far less dangerous. How many soldiers cried out for their mothers, the first—and sometimes last—time they were brought in? Perhaps this was something like that. The mind’s way of retreating inward, to a safer, smaller place.

Matthew bent down, hands on his knees, to be on Alfred’s level. “Can you tell me how old you are, Alfred?”

It took him a moment. Then, shyly, he held up his hand. Five fingers.

 _“Five,”_ Matthew said. “Wow. You were really brave, to do this all by yourself. And you didn’t even cry!”

Alfred ducked his chin, but Matthew saw the little smile sneak out.

Matthew wondered what Alfred’s commanding officer would say, if he saw this. Matthew wondered what he himself would say, if they weren’t alone. But none of that mattered. They were alone. And it was Christmas.

Matthew leaned a little closer, lowered his voice. “How would you like a treat, for being such a brave boy?”

Alfred’s eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly.

Matthew smiled. “Just a second.” He retreated to the back of the tent, where his own bed was half-hidden by a curtain. He pulled it aside and crouched to remove the box stowed beneath the bed. The director of the med team had come round the first of the month—here and home again before the snow started, of course—with gifts for all the nurses. Nothing material. Just things that had become treasures since the rationing began. Matthew, once, would never have dreamed of eating fruit from a can—unless it was preserves from his garden. Now, he held the can of strawberries like it was a holy object, because it was.

“Do you like strawberries?” Matthew asked.

Alfred’s whole face lit up now, brighter than the lamps hanging above them. Matthew sat down beside him on the cot and they shared the strawberries, eating the slices one after the other. Matthew had planned on saving them as long as possible, perhaps eating one a day with his powdery biscuits, but they brought such color to Alfred that he didn’t have the heart to take them away.

Matthew let Alfred scoop one last finger of juice out of the can before he set it aside. “There, that was nice, wasn’t it?”

Alfred nodded again, smiling openly now. Matthew smiled too. He didn’t know the rules of this; perhaps he should have been trying to lift Alfred out of his state. But the night was still young. Matthew felt certain he would be himself again come morning at the latest. Of the coping mechanisms he’d seen, this one was one of the most pleasant. He wondered if Alfred was a charming man, because he made for a sweet little boy.

“Now, what would you like to do?” Matthew asked.

Alfred’s eyes widened a bit. He looked round the tent, then shrugged.

“There isn’t much to do,” Matthew agreed. They could go outside, but that ran the risk of someone seeing and questioning, not to mention of hurting Alfred’s wrist. A battlefield was no place for a child, physical or otherwise. “I was just going to do some reading tonight. Would you like me to read to you?”

Alfred brightened again and nodded. Matthew got up to fetch his latest book—he had a terrible addiction to romances—and when he’d turned back, Alfred had taken off his boots and curled up on the cot. Hands folded beneath his cheek. Gazing at Matthew expectantly. The picture of innocence.

“You ought to have a blanket.” Matthew took one of his own from his bed and laid it over Alfred. He sat down on the next cot over and began to read. He was in the middle of the novel, but it didn’t matter. Alfred wasn’t listening to the words, just to his voice. Twice Matthew glanced up; the second time, Alfred’s eyes were closed. Matthew smiled and read to himself. A good thing—if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have heard the tiny whisper.

“Mewwy Chwistmas.”


End file.
